


Flash and Substance

by stillwaters01



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Loyalty, POV Outsider, The Secret Sceptre Affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillwaters01/pseuds/stillwaters01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zia knew what it was to be loyal to a person as much as a cause. For her, it was Colonel Morgan. For Napoleon, it was Illya Kuryakin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash and Substance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own this show. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.
> 
> Written: Notes: 3/1/14. Written: 8/9/14.
> 
> Notes: A bit of outside POV on Napoleon’s character and the fierce loyalty between him and his partner as displayed in the “you have something that belongs to me” line from “The Secret Sceptre Affair.” All dialogue in this piece is quoted directly from the episode and, as such, does not belong to me. Thank you to all those who have welcomed my first steps into writing these characters – as always, I truly hope I did them justice. Thank you for reading.

 

 

 

Zia knew what it was to be loyal to a person as much as a cause. When Napoleon Solo returned to his former commander’s side, she thought his loyalty to Colonel Morgan matched her own.

 

Until Illya Kuryakin was taken.

 

It was then that Zia met two key pieces of Napoleon Solo: flash and substance. A flashiness in dress and action that rivaled his given name and a deep-seated set of values that rivaled everything she thought she knew about mission, command, and loyalty.

 

“Napoleon, I want you to know I’m deeply sorry about Kuryakin,” Colonel Morgan said as they prepared the sceptre for transport. “Perhaps the Premier will keep him alive long enough for us to demand his release. Once the sceptre’s in France that should give you an additional incentive to get through.”

 

Napoleon stood at the mirror around the corner, putting on his tie with a calm, still silence, confidence and focus within tightly held posture. “I have the incentive, all I need are the means,” he answered smoothly; a statement Zia didn’t yet realize indicated Napoleon’s internal switch from the Colonel’s mission to his own personal one.

 

But then he stepped into the main room and was all flash – fixing his cuffs, adjusting his suit jacket, taking the tennis racket with a quip and making a showy, almost finicky, swing.

 

It was a flashiness repeated later on when she swapped her uniform for a dress that wouldn’t make them stand out. Napoleon took her hand, a classic gentleman and insufferable flirt, the words smooth as velvet: “Very nice. Very nice, indeed.”

 

But Zia quickly broke the appreciative look, returning to business. “If you want to get to the garage, I think we better hurry.”

 

And there, the substance subtly overtook the flash. Still holding her hand, Napoleon pulled her back, gentle, but with an underlying firmness, some of the cold stillness from the mirror back in the set of his shoulders. “Ah yes, we’re going to the garage, but not quite yet. There’s a little matter of a man named Illya Kuryakin.”

 

Zia couldn’t believe they had served under the same man. “You would risk the whole mission to save one man?” she asked incredulously.

 

Napoleon didn’t hesitate in his response, eyes shifting to the side with a brief, almost wistful, private smile. “Yes, I know it’s rather unprofessional of me, but then, uh, I’m not perfect.”

 

“And how will you get into the fortress?”

 

“Shoot my way in if I have to – unless you have a better suggestion.” His eyes slid back and forth again; a man in a hurry, worried and needing to take action. But also a man who, within the bravado of one plan, had the ability to honestly ask if she had a better one.

 

Returning that honesty, Zia offered the tunnel entrance, an option he took with a strategist’s quick analysis and a swift “all right, let’s go.” But then the gentleman reappeared, offering her a way out of the impending operation.

 

“I am a soldier, remember?” she glared at him and he actually had the decency to look chastised, ducking his head as he smiled. Begging her pardon, he clicked his heels and came to attention; an action that managed to be flashy and playful without ever being condescending. It was a playfulness mirrored in the smile he gave her after hiding the tennis racket in plain sight in the shop window: part flash, part little boy pleased with his cleverness.

 

Once they were in the tunnel, however, Zia couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Solo, has it occurred to you that Kuryakin might already be dead?”

 

It took him a few seconds to look at her, still focused directly ahead on his mission, but his answer was chillingly raw. “Often,” he said, voice as dark as the shadow covering half his face; the same half of a man she began to understand he’d be if Kuryakin really was gone.

 

But he kept moving forward.

 

When Napoleon entered the Premier’s office, he was still, calm, confident. Any rage or worry was tamped down to lethal efficiency – as focused as the snake at the gate and just as deadly. “Don’t move, your Excellency.”

 

When the Premier asked who he was, Napoleon began moving forward, gun and eyes as laser focused as his clipped response. “You have something that belongs to me. A friend of mine.” And _that_ was who he was – a man, not of flashy, finicky actions, but a man of substance, a man without his other half, demanding its return. “I would suggest that you pick up that phone – shouldn’t take more than a minute and a half to have him taken from his cell and brought here.”

 

Zia wondered how many cells they had been in for Napoleon’s calculations to be so precise.

 

The Premier tried for bravado. “Who said he’s in a cell? Who said that he is even….” But the attempt quickly failed as he trailed off, unable to say the word in front of Napoleon’s threatening presence.

 

Neither Napoleon’s voice, gun, nor posture wavered; all calm, lethal focus. “If he’s dead, so are you.”

 

And there was no doubt in Zia’s mind that Napoleon spoke the truth.

 

When he checked his watch while the Premier was talking there was no flash there, no showiness of being bored with the man’s insistence he was innocent - it was nothing more than monitoring the time it should take for Kuryakin to arrive, watching for any tricks. But when the time came, the barest hint of flashiness rippled under the calm voice and movement as Napoleon chose to hide behind the curtains, the tip of his gun keeping the Premier in place.

 

Mr. Kuryakin came in and Zia couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he appeared unharmed. He walked directly to his captor, turning a split-second before Napoleon revealed himself; whether from putting together the Premier’s position and expression, along with his being allowed to enter alone, or from some intuitive sense of his partner, Zia wasn’t sure. When Napoleon pushed the curtains aside, it wasn’t without a little bit of dramatic flair, but Illya didn’t say a word. There wasn’t a bit of surprise written on Kuryakin’s face – at the flashy action _or_ the overall rescue - which spoke volumes to Zia about their relationship.

 

For the first time since entering the room, Napoleon’s eyes briefly left the Premier, leaving only his gun as assurance. Focused solely on Kuryakin, he gave his partner a smile that was equal parts smugly pleased with himself and overwhelmingly relieved. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Illya moved with a word; a whole, private conversation in the silence.

 

When Illya reached the door, Zia put a hand on his arm, glad that he was all right. But Illya only had eyes for Napoleon, keeping himself in front of her in an unconscious protective position, while Napoleon came to stand in front of Illya the same way, gun still carefully aimed at the room’s remaining threat. Zia winced as the sleep dart was fired, but Illya didn’t move until a glance at Napoleon told him his partner was ready to go.

 

When they were safely out of the tunnel and back in the Jeep, Zia felt Napoleon’s focus shift gears. His primary mission was complete. _Now_ came the Colonel’s assignment.

 

An assignment that brought Lazarus back from the dead only to show how wrong he’d gone.

 

Because in the end, Colonel Morgan made a mockery not only of Napoleon’s loyalty, but hers as well: “Sentimentality? I trained you better than that.”

 

But it was that sentimentality that saved them, as Illya Kuryakin drew the Colonel’s fire and shot dead the man to whom Zia and Napoleon had once pledged themselves.

 

Yes, Zia knew what it was to be loyal to a person as much as a cause. For her, it had once been Colonel Morgan.

 

But for Napoleon, it was, and always would be, Illya Kuryakin.

 

 

 

 


End file.
